


Safe Now

by EAI



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: BAMF Aaron, BAMF Jesus, Daryl acts like their big brother, Disability, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Protective Daryl Dixon, Self-Loathing, Slow Build, Temporary, baby Paul is ours now, but not really, i don't know shit about medical okay? i'm just winging it, no beta we die like men, oops there goes the plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-16 23:20:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16963386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EAI/pseuds/EAI
Summary: It was jarring to hear Aaron screaming as he fell, his voice recoiled like a broken record, but it kept Paul awake.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thought i should at least add my jaaron piece here, since i have loads of them. this is unbeta'd, english is not my first language so... yeah.
> 
> enjoy!

 

 

 

It was jarring to hear Aaron screaming as he fell, his voice recoiled like a broken record, but it kept Paul awake. It was a great struggle to breathe and his heart stuttered, recognizing the hurt at every inch of him. He didn’t think he could move any of his limbs all the while destructive panic coursed through his veins. Then a walker dropped before his very eyes, Daryl’s arrow planted deep into its temple. His eyes widened when he realized it was the very same walker that stabbed him, that whispered to him. Paul could’ve sworn he heard a gust of an exhale escaping the walker’s lips, and frowned at the trickle of red, red, **red** blood cascading down the blue of the walker’s rotten skin.

Impossible.

 

-

 

All he could see was the color red.

He was furious.

Daunted.

Devastated.

He was _scared_.

The fragmented images of Paul collapsing down the misty ground with the walker looming above him; the absolute anguish in those seafoam eyes that Aaron had long started to love, and blood crawling and dripping from the tip of a sharpened sword repeated mercilessly in his head as he swung and plunged and felled as many walkers as he could.

Paul.

When the fight ended, silence filled in, and Aaron began to question what in the world had actually happened. This entire ordeal felt too nightmarish to be real – the dead never charged at them before. Never _dodged_ an attack before.

Paul.

He slid his knife back into its cover as he hurried over to Paul’s side, and cried in relief to hear his – albeit labored – breaths. Paul’s still alive, staying strong, and Aaron didn’t want to lose him. He didn’t want to lose anyone ever again. And it _killed_ him when Paul’s eyes started to drift closed.

“—hey, hey! Paul, stay awake, please. Stay awake,” Aaron pleaded, his good hand applying pressure on the wound on Paul’s shoulder, while his metal hand cupped Paul’s pale cheek, ushering him to open his eyes. “Look at me, okay? Keep your eyes on me, don’t you dare go anywhere.”

_Not without me._

Michonne skidded down on the other side, gingerly inspecting the extent of Paul’s back injury as Magna, one of the newcomers, elevated Paul’s head to rest on her folded knees, hushing him like a mother would when he whimpered. Then when Michonne’s hand came up drenched with blood and trembling, her voice shook a little, “We’ve got to be quick, he doesn’t have much time. Do you have bandages in your pack?”

Aaron shoved his pack down his shoulders, rummaging through his items and took out a few gauzes and a cloth. He tore the cloth into two, folded one for the shoulder and tossed the other at Michonne who proceeded to tend Paul’s back, wrapping and securing both wounds with the gauzes carefully without aggravating the damages any further.

“L-Leave me,” Paul begged Aaron, his eyes wet with unshed tears. “Please.”

Michonne held Paul’s hand. “Jesus, listen to me. We’re not leaving you behind. We’re going to get you out of here, you hear me? Just hold on.”

Aaron tied the gauzes and stuttered when he saw blood starting to seep through. “Michonne—“

— _whispers_.

They caught those disembodied whispers again, no, more like throaty hisses somewhere in the midst of the blur. Spouting something about cornering them; about Paul, and about – _don’t let them get away_.

Daryl turned to them, clutching a mask of what seemed to be made out of a walker’s skin in his hand. “We gotta go. _Now_.”

Aaron handed his pack to Magna as they gently moved Paul for Aaron to carry on his back, muttering _sorry_ under his breath, and _please_ , again and again, praying to whatever Gods listening, to please give them some more time. Daryl whistled at Dog to go ahead of them, slinging Eugene’s arm across his shoulders as they re-armed themselves and took point; Magna picked up Paul’s fallen sword as she and Yumiko stood at both their sides with Michonne completing the formation at the back. They went quickly, fighting off approaching walkers until they finally reached Michonne’s stallion.

“Siddiq’s at the Hilltop,” Michonne told him as she and Magna held Paul up, the cold gaze she adopted for six long years was now replaced by something he would call guilt. “Get him back safe, we’ll catch up.”

Daryl left Eugene to prop himself against a tree, moving towards Paul. “Watch your back, these guys are everywhere.”

Aaron nodded and hoisted himself onto the horse, catching the reigns and helped Daryl lifting Paul up to perch in front of him, securing him in the safety of his arms before he galloped his way to Hilltop. Seconds ticked by then minutes, time was running out. He wrapped his metal arm around Paul’s waist, holding him as close as he possibly could when he felt Paul’s shaking, cold hand clutching onto his bicep – like a lifeline.

“Hold on, please,” Aaron whispered, he didn’t think Paul could hear him, but the hand stayed nonetheless.

And once he strode past Hilltop’s entrance, stopping at the clearing; Siddiq, Enid and Alden were thankfully already there. Paul’s gruesome state alarmed almost all of the community’s residents, prompting Alden to holler Tara’s name and Siddiq to order Enid to prepare the operating table in the infirmary, turning back to Aaron and demanded what had happened.

“A walker impaled him with a machete, through his back out his shoulder,” Aaron muttered, depositing Paul down right into Alden’s arms as the former Savior immediately rushed Paul to the infirmary where Enid was waiting, and Siddiq following shortly. He dismounted from Michonne’s stallion, quaking when he realized that Paul’s eyes were closed, arms hanging limp, his skin too pasty to be _alive_.

 _Not you, Paul. God please, not you too_ – he thought as he made his way to the infirmary.  

The next few minutes and hours were spent trying to save Paul’s life, and it proved to be thrice as difficult without the technologies from the previous world. Metal armors and torn shirt were chucked haphazardly onto the floor; Paul gasping as much as he could from an oxygen tank, bloodied swabs and pads scattered all over, bags of blood and light-dosage morphine were transfused, and Enid’s hands covered Paul’s wrist as she kept her attention on his heartbeats. And not too long into the surgery, Paul’s heart palpitated then stopped, much to their panic. Siddiq had to resuscitate him back, a minute went by then two, leaving Paul’s chest bruised. A few beats were all they needed to continue, and when torn muscles were mended as far as Siddiq and Enid could reach and the wounds stitched, Siddiq deemed Paul was better to be left with the oxygen tank.

Oxygen tank to help him breathe, in a world like this?

It was a death sentence.

Aaron was sitting on the steps outside the House, it was already morning by the time the surgery ended, and the tragedy that happened to Paul spread among the Hilltoppers just as quickly. The first few days would be critical – there were many possibilities that could happen at any time; Paul could succumb to his wounds, contracted infections from his injuries, complications to his brain after that much blood loss or rendered comatose. He wouldn’t want either to happen, he wanted Paul to wake and smile and laugh again. He wanted to hear his voice, and stare at those seafoam eyes that he loved so much. Tara, after hugging him and volunteering to take the first watch over Paul, told him to wash up and rest. Aaron would, but his shock took the better part of him.

He stared at his trembling hand – still painted with Paul’s blood, sticky when mixed with his sweat. His clothes too, and his metal arm. God, he looked horrible.

But all he could see was the color red.

He was damn furious.

Daunted.

Devastated.

He was _scared_.

Enid handed him a bottle of water, in which he gratefully took and drank most of its contents to satisfy his thirst. She sat beside him then, clearing her throat.

Capping the bottle shut, he asked. “What is it?”

“We may have some problems with Jesus’ injuries,” she began. “Siddiq found out that the stab broke two of Jesus’ ribs, and grazed his left lung. He managed to drain out excess air and fluids, but he would have to leave the oxygen tank on for now. Also, the wound is too close to his spine...”

Aaron lowered his head and closed his eyes.

“…it may have caused some damages but he isn’t sure yet, not until Jesus is awake,” Enid quietly said, turning to Aaron and rested her hand on his arm. “Aaron?”

_—the absolute anguish in those seafoam eyes that Aaron had long started to love._

_—Paul’s shaking, cold hand clutching onto his bicep – like a lifeline._

“I felt it, Enid. I felt him slipping. And it scared me.”

 

-

 

Aaron had showered off the grime and blood when Daryl, Michonne, Eugene, Magna and Yumiko came back with a captive. Siddiq and a male Hilltopper helped Eugene to the infirmary to tend on his broken leg while Daryl, after catching Aaron’s eyes – silently answered his question with a nod that yes, Paul made through the surgery but was still unconscious – dragged their prisoner, who seemed too small to be a man or even an adult, to the basement cell, with Dog trotting along. Michonne walked over to him, her worry was written clear on her face as she asked him about Paul. Aaron relayed to her what Enid told him, but now, he hoped Paul would survive somehow and come out bouncing and healthy by some wandering miracle that seemed to have ran low in this new world.

“Who’s the prisoner?”

“We’ll find out about that soon. She was with the herd.”

And later that afternoon, after lunch and rest, they gathered in Maggie’s office to discuss about the people who walked amongst the dead, who chased after Rosita and Eugene to the brink of exhaustion, ardent on killing them. The mask Aaron saw clutched in Daryl’s hand earlier at the cemetery was on the coffee table, empty sockets staring ominous at each of them.

“We’ve trespassed, I think that’s why they followed us,” Rosita said, biting on her thumb.

“And we took down a lot of ‘em, don’t think these guys are the negotiating type. We gotta keep an eye out, I have a feeling this ain’t over yet,” Daryl huffed, crossing his arms. “What were you guys doin’ too far out there in the first place?”

Rosita swallowed. “Radio signal. Gabriel and I mapped out the place where we needed to transmit a frequency, someplace high enough. Just so we could communicate with other survivors, just so we know we’re not alone.”

Tara snorted.

“Well, that’s pretty heroic. But _just_ to let you know, in case you hadn’t noticed, Jesus is now fighting for his life!” she spat. “I thought we learned not to gamble and scout for people we don’t know, I thought we learned not to take that risk anymore.”

“ _Tara_ ,” Michonne interrupted.

“What? You, of all people, should know. Heck, you’re the one who made that **law** of yours that you wouldn’t let newcomers in. You didn’t even want anything to do with us,” she parried, turning to Rosita. “Count yourself lucky Jesus and Aaron were there to rescue you.”

Tara then stomped her way out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

When nothing was said, Aaron decided he had too much politics for the day, and stood up with a groan. “I’m gonna go check on Paul.”

 

-

 

“I think I broke our deal. I know we agreed to not fall in love, but I didn’t mean to.”

That very night, Aaron kept note at the slow rise and fall of Paul’s chest, and listened to the soft hisses of oxygen respiring from the tank. Enid had replaced Paul’s IV with a new one just an hour ago, told him not to forget to eat his dinner before she left them alone shortly after. He scooted his chair much closer to Paul’s bed in the infirmary, reaching over to hold the man’s hand, linking their fingers together. Aaron smiled a little as he entertained the thought that their hands fit one another just too perfectly, and that they matched in more ways than one. Aaron didn’t think he would fall in love again after losing Eric, but he proved himself wrong.

“You’ve got to wake up, Paul, so I can tell you. _Really_ tell you, how I feel about you,” he whispered, waiting for something, an answer or a squeeze of his hand maybe.

But there was nothing.

Then he turned his head when he heard a knock and the infirmary’s door creaked open, and Magna stepped in with a good plate full of mashed potatoes and roasted meat.

“Hey,” she piped in awkwardly. “Tara told me you haven’t had your dinner yet, so, here.”

He accepted the plate, thanking her. “How’d you find Hilltop?”

“Well, this place’s awesome, sort of like a medieval hometown. No offense to Alexandria, by the way. The people here are very welcoming, which is a bonus. Oh, and the food’s great too,” Magna pulled a grin as she leaned against the wall beside the door.

“Glad to hear you’re settling in nicely. Hilltop needs more people to help out with the harvests soon, you guys are lifesavers,” Aaron smiled, resting the plate on his thighs, and dug into his dinner. Seconds then minutes ticked by, Magna was still there and he could feel her eyes trained on Paul, like he was an enigma to her. He raised his head up at her, and asked, “You okay?”

Magna blinked, looking away flustered when Aaron caught her, then rubbed the back of her neck. She sighed, as if she decided on something before moving closer to the foot of Paul’s bed. “I had a brother, younger than me but he was the most sophisticated between us two. Our parents weren’t exactly there for most of our childhood, and times were rough, so I only had him. After I got arrested for robbery and was sent to prison, he visited me every week. And we talked about things that made us happy, like me being in prison didn’t even happen at all.

“Then the world fell down and I got out. And the first thing I did was finding my way home to my brother. I did get home, I did find him. But to what was left of him.”

“I’m sorry, Magna,” Aaron said.

“It doesn’t hurt that much anymore,” Magna smiled, a small one, as she motioned her hand at Paul. “Jesus, right? That’s what you guys call him? He looks a lot like my brother, and yes, with the long hair and the beard because apparently, being a hippie was a trend. But fuck… it makes me so damn happy to see someone who resembles him so much.”

A second chance, to make everything better.

God, he wanted a second chance too.

 

-

 

On the fourth day after the incident at the cemetery, Paul finally opened his eyes, much to Aaron’s relief as he asked Magna to go and fetch Siddiq. Paul’s skin was pasty still and a little feverish, but nonetheless, he looked much better. Those pair of seafoam eyes watered when Aaron held himself up to Paul’s view.

“Hey,” Aaron smiled, brushing strands of hair from Paul’s forehead. “Can’t tell you how happy I am to see you’re finally awake.”

“…I-I got through?” Paul croaked, coughing a little.

“Yeah, the surgery was difficult but Siddiq and Enid managed to patch you up. How are you feeling?”

Paul closed his eyes, tears trickling down his temples as his throat bobbed a few times. Aaron thought today might be his lucky day, Paul survived the stab and it was a damn miracle. But then Paul began to panic, his eyes wild and his breathing sped dangerously quick, hands clutching too tightly on Aaron’s shoulders.

“Paul! Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“I—“

“Look at me, Paul, what’s—“

“I-I can’t feel my legs.”

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm aiming for a somewhat realistic approach here - logically, we have little to no technological access in the apocalypse, and this very much applies to medicine (ct-scan, etc) as well. and this leads to my rainbows-and-butterflies adventure to the discovery of spinal surgeries of centuries past! i did and will do some more research about paraplegia, sciatic nerve injuries and spine injuries and the whatnot, and these are three of the counted possibilities (depending on where the sword went through) that i/we can go with if our baby paul "jesus" rovia is to survive canonically. BUT DAMN I STILL HATE THE WRITERS FOR KILLING HIM OFF FUCK THEM FUCK THEM ALL HE'S ALIVE HERE THAT'S ALL THAT MATTERS
> 
> this one is short, but important nonetheless. heed the tagged warnings above, lovelies! thank you for liking this story and commenting, bookmarking, whatever you're doing, i am eternally grateful and hopefully you'll stay until the very end ;D
> 
> enjoy!

 

 

 

“Enid is brewing some chamomile tea for you to drink in which I suggest that you continue until your injuries are nicely healed, it’ll also help you sleep better. We’ll put some ice to shrink down this swelling here,” Siddiq told him as he examined the dark bruising along Paul’s back, an ugly streak of purple and blue that stopped just beneath his left shoulder blade. Then the young doctor gently cleaned his back wound, and applied a thin layer of honey on the jagged crisscross. “Let this dry for a few minutes.”

Paul twitched at the stinging pain that came and went, the morphine Siddiq administered to him didn’t numb him as much as he thought. And he refused to ask for more, they had to ration and others might need it more than him. Hilltop was running low on old world medicine as it were, and the herbs Enid planted were not yet ready for harvest. Siddiq then carefully turned him to lie on his right, relieving the strain off his front as Paul weakly cataloged what he could and couldn’t move.

His left arm was as of this moment, rendered immobile.

It hurt to breathe, his chest and ribs felt too tight, hence the oxygen tank.

His back too stiff.

And his legs… 

“Be honest, please… is this permanent?”

He couldn’t see Siddiq from where he was facing, didn’t know if he could hear him through this mask with how meekly he sounded. The doctor didn’t answer him until he moved to sit on the vacant chair right in front of him, and started unwrapping the bandages on his shoulder. Paul waited and thought he could tolerate no matter how heavy the truth would be. “There are so many things that we don’t have, Jesus. It’s a sad disadvantage that we have to live with. If I were to do the surgery, it doesn’t mean that you’ll miraculously regain movement of your legs. I have to open and expose your spine in which I don’t want to risk. We’re talking something fragile, something less than an inch, and there will be complications. But I didn’t see bone fragments when I operated on you, the blade could have injured a ligament, a nerve, twisted a disk or caused blood clots on your lower back. I don’t know how deep it went, but with how much blood loss you had, it was enough warning. We almost lost you, Jesus, we don’t want to lose you again.”

“…so I’m better like this then? A liability?” Paul rasped.

But Siddiq looked at him, a little disapproving and said. “I wish you didn’t say that, you’ll hurt so many people in ways you can’t imagine.”

The doctor finished applying a good smear of honey then, pulling the blanket up to Paul’s waist, and placed his warm hand on Paul’s left arm – not that he could feel it, his limb was somewhat numb. “Rest, okay? I’ll be right back with some clothes and your tea.”

Alone, Paul found himself mesmerized by the cream curtains dancing and billowing in the breeze. He felt soft bursts of it cooling his skin, and for once since the night he opened his eyes, it was comforting. Then he heard the door swung open and clicked shut, and Daryl came to view, wearing a different set of clothes and looking clean, sitting on the chair Siddiq left.

“Didn’t think you’d visit me,” Paul said as slowly as he could, like something was grating on his chest when he talked.

“You’re not a stranger, Paul. I’ve known you for almost eight years, and that’s sayin’ somethin’.”

Paul felt he should be honored or that declaration should warrant a semblance of satisfaction somewhat, but he wondered why he felt pitied at instead. And it was unfortunately very upsetting.

Daryl then proceeded to tell him everything that happened for the last five days, things that he missed – they had a captive, a girl they caught from the herd; the walkers turned out to be humans wearing masks made out of rotten skins of the dead; Luke, one of the five newcomers, was missing; Michonne agreed to rejoin and restore their long-forgotten alliance, much to Paul’s relief; everyone was worried about him; and Daryl had sent Aaron to sleep a few hours ago as he had been working past exhaustion since the cemetery.

**Aaron.**

**Aaron.**

**Aaron.**

Paul wanted to see him.

“And I got Maggie’s letter,” Daryl showed him the folded paper. “Didn’t read it.”

Paul narrowed his eyes, only he and Tara knew about Maggie’s letter. “Did you tell the twins about me when they trusted the letter to you?”

Daryl only returned his stare, and replied. “Not _yet_.”

“Don’t,” he swallowed, his eyes clenched shut at the rush of pain on his back. “Maggie doesn’t need to know. She’s happy, away from here.”

“She has to know. One way or another.”

But Paul didn’t bother saying anything to him, ending the conversation as he kept his eyes closed. He caught Daryl’s sigh, Maggie’s letter crinkled in the man’s hand when he slipped the paper underneath Paul’s pillow. “I’m gonna stay.”

Then the infirmary was quiet, and he was alone once again.

Daryl was going to stay because Hilltop was short of one able-bodied fighter, Paul wouldn’t be able to keep and help this place defended like he used to any more. He turned useless ever since Maggie left, and now he was a _liability_. So he curled his good arm to cradle his left, trying to rein in his racing pulse as he burrowed his face into his pillow as much as the oxygen mask allowed him.

 

 

 


End file.
